Evermore
by JeiDurii
Summary: Marik and Bakura examine the perfect relationship that their lights share.


"They're weak."

"Pathetic."

"Too innocent for their own good."

A pair of spirits exchanged equally deviant grins before bursting into a bout of laughter, laughter that bordered the fine line between insanity and good sense. Of course, this was all they knew. Little else surpassed these moments of sheer joy, during which they could find it possible to ignore their inequality, if only for an hour or so. It was better to pick apart their lighter halves, anyway, because it was what proved to the entire world that they actually _could_ find some sort of belonging.

"The way they're refusing to let go of one another is sure to make me sick, Bakura," snickered the taller of the two as he relaxed against the smooth wall behind him. His lavender-eyed gaze never once redirected itself, though, and so, he continued to pay close attention.

"You know, Ishtar, I find them amusing," came the neutral response, rolling from the tongue of the King of Thieves himself. Bakura stole a glimpse of his partner. "They remind me of these two men. _Egyptian_ men, both of whom existed during Atemu's rule. . ." He chortled, as if he'd just allowed a secret to slip. "Now, Marik, you wouldn't happen to know these men, would you?"

Marik shrugged. He'd play along; after all, he could always appreciate the rare opportunities to share merriment rather than disregard with Bakura. "Well, if their mesmerizingly good looks are anything to judge, then yes, I do know those men."

"Ah, I suppose I do as well."

And they succumbed to the silence.

It was no surprise to either of them as memories reverted to the backs of their minds. The past could never have been out-run or forgotten, especially if they found themselves nearly analyzing the flawlessness of their counterparts. Each spirit, as dark as they were now, remembered when they were just as youthful and safe. They could see clearly their own days of purity, the days that they believed in and missed. That was what they wanted. As Marik had always said, "No one chooses to become darkness. Darkness chooses to become no one."

_Just like Marik. Always dramatic, never poised._

Bakura stifled a chuckle. He'd never truly understood those words. He knew better than to disbelieve them, though, because he had known Marik for an entire two lifetimes. But that didn't stop his mind from wondering. Did it mean that he and Marik were nothing, or that they'd be forsaken? Bakura's mood fell as quickly as his face, but with a simple turn of his head, he yet again glanced at his only friend, ridding himself of current negativity.

"Ryou isn't enough for Malik. He submits constantly," Marik said with a hint of disapproval. He grimaced after listening to the voiced glee of the other darkness. "And what is so funny, Itemri?"

"You were enough for me, even with _your_ never-ending submission," Bakura teased.

"What!? I--"

"Dear Ra, Marik, I mean nothing by it! Calm down before you hurt yourself."

A sarcastic laugh, drawn from the lips of Marik, was more than enough of an indication for the tomb thief to leave it be. The ancient sorcerer was always one to take things a bit too far.

"I've realized something," Bakura remarked, cocking his head to one side.

"Really, now?"

"Yes. If you would just remember, you'd see it, too."

Marik nodded, but he knew what was on the pale-skinned phantom's mind. "Well, I think I've noticed it."

Bakura seemed a bit eager, what with his widened eyes and expression of pure hope within each of them. "Have you?"

"I have, actually. They're us. _Us_. Or who we would have been, at least."

The thief agreed, but his excitement died down as he cleared his throat. Would it be too much of an inconvenience if he should elaborate? He decided that Marik was more understanding than he'd thought and spoke with a passionate dignity. "You're right because, when I look at them, I see you and me. I see myself in Ryou. He looks at Malik the way I once looked at you. So deep, so. . ."

"Tender." It was a simple word, but coming from Marik, it sounded odd, as if the spirit had lost some sense of faith. However, such an event could be reasonable. After all, hadn't he suffered enough? He easily recognized Bakura's words because he could recall himself believing the very same thing. But nothing could replace the differences between he and Malik, nor could it push aside the oppositions of Ryou and Bakura. "I see it, too, Itemri. You know, I can nearly feel your breath on my neck again. I can see our clasped hands. Can you?"

"I can. I see everything as you and me and what we once were. I'm afraid that our little lights have outplaced us, though," Bakura stated, the grim realism of his situation returning to haunt him. "I might be jealous, Ishtar," he said, laughing, but only for a moment. "Ryou has Malik. Malik has Ryou. What do we have? The Rod and the Ring?"

Bakura's resentment was now clear, and it was up to Marik to set things straight. "Now, now, Bakura. They've just done what we haven't in ages."

"And what's that?"

Long, agonizing seconds of wordlessness came and went, and Marik finally found it right to speak his mind. "Fallen in love."


End file.
